


You're About To Miss Everything

by funghoulhasbeenpartypoisoned



Category: Pierce the Veil
Genre: Alcoholism Trigger Warning, M/M, self harm trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funghoulhasbeenpartypoisoned/pseuds/funghoulhasbeenpartypoisoned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Written in part by my friend Claire*</p>
<p>When they can't turn to each other for comfort, Kellin and Vic each turn to something else.<br/>For Kellin, it's drinking. Not just a glass, but enough to end up in the hospital.<br/>For Vic, it's dragging a blade across his skin.<br/>But the worst problem is, neither of them know the other's addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dizzy Dreamer and His Bleeding Little Blue Boy

“Come on, Kells, do we really have to watch this again? I know you’re secretly in love with Marius, but we’ve seen this movie so many times. You’re an addict, you know that?”

Kellin grimaces at the word, but he pretends he’s just mildly disturbed by the movie. “Shh, Vic, I’m trying to enjoy it. Get your ass over here,” Kellin says, vaguely motioning to the space next to him on the couch.

Vic rolls his eyes with an explosive sigh and flops onto the couch, handing Kellin a beer and twisting open his own. “Fine. But we’re  
watching the Matrix after this.”

Kellin’s eyes are on the screen, but he gives a distracted nod. He’s doing his best to ignore the beer in front of him. “Okay. Now, I  
didn’t call you over to the couch for you to sit on the other end.” He tears his gaze from the movie (with an effort, it seems), and  
outstretches his left arm to Vic. Vic sticks out his tongue childishly and leans over, so that his head now rests in Kellin’s lap. Kellin sighs.

“Vic, aren’t I blocking the view?”

“I don’t want to see the goddamned view,” Vic replies. “You are the view.”

“Screw you, Vic. Now shut up, this scene is my favorite.”

“Screw me? When and where, Kells?”

Kellin reaches down and puts his hand on Vic’s face, obscuring his mouth. “Only if you sing with me.”

“’Do you hear the people sing?’” Vic trills mockingly, removing  
Kellin’s hand. “’Singing the song of angry men?’”

Kellin shushes impatiently. “I’m dead serious.”

“As dead as all the characters in this movie?”

Kellin pushes Vic off of his lap and he lands on the floor with a loud thump and a yell of complaint. Kellin giggles a little, in spite of  
himself. He kicks Vic in the side, who in return jumps up and sits back on Kellin’s lap. Vic sticks out his tongue again. Kellin averts  
his gaze from the movie just in time to see Vic kiss him on the nose. Kellin scrunches up his face, but gives in as Vic gently presses his lips against Kellin’s. Kellin fumbles next to him to find the remote (this is his favorite scene, after all; he ought to pause it). Vic smiles against Kellin’s lips. Kellin’s hand connects with the rough texture of Vic’s pants. A sharp intake of breath from Vic. Kellin’s free hand reaches for the light switch.

 

///

 

Kellin wakes with a start. He gives a groan; he’s lying on the (rather hard) floor, amid spilled popcorn and old beer stains. Kellin makes a mental note to have the carpet cleaned. Yawning, he reaches up to  
scratch his shoulder. The familiar fog of alcohol is clouding his mind, and it takes a moment before it registers that the shoulder is bare. He’s not wearing a shirt. He bolts upright, heart racing, but luckily the shirt’s the only thing missing – except for Vic.

Kellin gets to his feet and retrieves the shirt from where it’s lying halfway across the room, haphazardly draped over a chair. Giving  
another loud yawn, he stumbles over to the bathroom, tripping a little over a messily discarded hoodie that, in his half-drunken mind, does not register as Vic’s. The bathroom door is closed, light issuing from  
under the bottom, and he feels a flash of momentary irritation.

“Vic?” he calls in, a little hesitantly, a little annoyed as well. The noise of another of his yawns hides the sudden noise from inside the  
locked door.

Vic struggles to make his voice sound casual, picking up the razor he dropped in shock. “Y-yeah. Give me a minute, Kells.”

Frantically, Vic wipes at his arms with a tissue, trying to rid them of the blood that was the result of the blade-drawn lines on his skin. With a feeling of mounting horror, he remembers that he shrugged off his hoodie earlier that morning, after Kellin had fallen asleep. Fuck.  
“Sorry, Kells, I’m about to take a shower,” Vic calls. “I’ll be a  
minute, could you throw my hoodie in while I’m washing up?”

“Sure, babe. Don’t be too long.” Kellin goes back to the couch to look for Vic’s hoodie before realizing that it’s the one lying outside the bathroom.

“Thanks, Kells,” Vic replies, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. “I’ll only be a minute.” He cleans up the droplets of  
scarlet from the floor, the sink, the drawers, and his arm before they begin to darken and dry. He flushes the bloody tissues and douses his head in the sink briefly before slipping on the hoodie again – there’s no time to actually shower now. Long dark hair dripping, he slips out past Kellin, who murmurs a quick thanks before entering the bathroom. Observing the flush that’s still lingering on Kellin’s cheeks – it  
seems he found his shirt – is almost enough to alleviate the feeling of panic still lingering somewhere in his chest. Checking that Kellin has closed the door, Vic leans against it. He allows himself a grin.


	2. Imagine Living Like A King Someday

"Kells, have you seen my black suit pants?" Vic yells from their bedroom. He pauses and hears a crash from the kitchen. 

"Fuck!" Kellin gasps as he stares at the broken glass and spilled vodka. "Fuck fuck fuck." 

"Kells, everything okay in there? Break another glass?”

“Accident, yeah,” he shouts back, his voice casual, picking up the glass shards with a speed born of desperation. Fuck, where are the rags…

Hearing Vic thundering down the stairs, Kellin snatches the nearest dishtowel and mops up the spill, even though it’s not a good idea to get vodka on their nice towels. He only has time to breath a brief sigh of relief before Vic emerges into the kitchen. His puzzled eyes flick from the dishtowel to the remaining glass fragments to Kellin. “Kellin, that’s-”

“Your suit pants should be in the closet in the extra bedroom, I think.”  
Vic checks his watch and swears loudly. “Shit, I’m going to be late!” he dashes back upstairs, taking the steps three at a time. Kellin sighs, and goes to toss the dishtowel in the washing machine.

 

///

 

Vic looks down at his watch. Come on, he thinks impatiently, only 15 more minutes to lunch break. In the cubicle next to him, Jaime starts laughing. "Shut the hell up, dude," Vic whispers, his voice full of venom. 

Jaime proceeds to mock him, imitating his voice and scrunching up his face. His eyes are full of laughter, but Vic is not amused. "Jaime, it's 14 minutes to lunch time, shut up til then." With a sigh, Vic turns back to his computer, ignoring Jaime's mockery. He squints at the small figures on the screen, trying to focus, but his mind keeps wandering to Kellin. 

He can hear stifled giggling from Jaime’s cubicle, and wheels around, annoyed. Jaime turns to him, a failed attempt at an innocent expression on his face. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?”  
Jaime rolls his eyes. “Vic..."   
“For the last time. Shut. Your. Mouth. Until. Lunch. Do you think you can manage that?”  
Jaime just responds with another giggle, wheeling away, and Vic has to struggle to control his temper at the other man until it’s finally time for lunch. God, he’s sick of work.

 

///

Was it hesitation or regret, that flash of feeling right before Kellin begins to pour yet another glass? It’s hard to tell; his mind is already so confused from all the drink that he isn’t even sure how many glasses he has had. A dull pounding is beginning in his temples. His hands are shaking. This isn’t the first time he had drank this much; no, not the first time in a while. But to be honest, it’s hard to remember any of it right now, really. 

The characteristic glug-glug-glug of the drink splashing into the glass is the only sound in the empty, quiet house. Kellin wonders vaguely what would happen if Vic came in now. It’s an irrational worry, he knows, but one that practically paralyzes him with anxiety when he’s sober and takes the time to think it through - all the consequences of Vic discovering the endless stock of bottles hidden in the cupboard and the uncurable addiction hidden in Kellin’s mind. Shameful would only be the beginning of it.

Lost in his half-formed thoughts, Kellin hasn’t noticed the glass overfilling. Letting out a fluent stream of swear words, he gropes around for a rag (which he restocked the kitchen with after this morning), and clumsily mops it up. With a surge of annoyance and regret, he faintly remembers setting this down as one of the signs to stop. If he’s not even present enough to notice this gin spilling all over the counter, he’s not going to be sober enough to conceal anything once Vic gets home. 

He considers ignoring that. He considers drinking, and drinking, and drinking until he can’t even feel the alcohol going down his throat, much less see if a glass is overflowing. But Kellin isn’t quite as drunk so that he can’t imagine Vic seeing him on the verge of senseless death, can’t imagine him screaming Kellin’s name over and again, until his voice deteriorates into sobs and doesn’t ever again hold the beauty and vigor Kellin always loved in it. Vic has been the only thing keeping him from drowning himself in drink ever since he started. With a wrench of his will, he screws the cap back onto the bottle and stumbles to the hidden cupboard. His fingers fumble in his pocket for the key, to seal off the temptation for the rest of the day.

Kellin despises himself for knowing that later that afternoon, he won’t let himself get close enough to Vic for him to smell the alcohol on his breath.   
He collapses backwards onto he and Vic’s bed, not quite knowing how he got there, hating himself for promising that he won’t drink tomorrow, no,

Hating himself for the stacked-up series of   
empty  
unfulfilled  
promises. 

Kellin sits up slowly, something like bile seizing in his throat. The walk to the bathroom seems to take an eternity.


End file.
